I look at the pile of 'stuff' in my basement and dream of the day when I can start clearing it out. There are a number of boxes with stuff which will go to our church youth group for their yard sale to fund charitable activities. There are more boxes and furniture with things for when my son (possibly) gets his own apartment in a number of months. There are skis which the younger one has outgrown. Rockets that no one shoots off anymore, too many pieces of luggage, my Bowflex which I've kind of abandoned in favor of swimming at the Y, cabinets with my hurricane/emergency supplies, vases, cookware I use once a year, and a bookshelf of books, games, crafts, and puzzles.
I'm coming to the point in my life where I want to simplify; have fewer things to fuss over, enjoy a clear view.
It's the same in my writing. I'm not a fluffy, overly literary type. I find long explanations, a character's thoughts about every little thing, and detailed setting descriptions tedious. (Hence, I have no love for books like Great Expectations- get to the point.) It's hard for me to wax poetic as the cliche goes because I'm a lover of action, dialogue, and progression. When another writer whose style is the opposite of mine critiques my work, it's hard for me add all the 'extras' they suggest, whether it's words or scenes or internal dialogue. And when I critique their work, I find myself cutting and trimming where it feels too dense to me.
When I critique, my pen immediately looks to red ink extra words like: that, of course, have, had, could, etc. When I clean the basement, I bag broken toys, clothes that don't fit, and things we don't use. In both cases, although it may be hard to let them go, once these things are gone, they won't be missed.
Whether it's in manuscripts or basements (or garages, attics, sheds, or closets) I don't want clutter anymore.
Is it time to de-clutter your life?
Char
Monday, February 17, 2014
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Walking In The Right Direction
The ad says "Walking for Life."
It's a class on walking.
Really.
Through a public park.
And you get to pay $80 for it.
?
Doesn't it sound ridiculous? I had to look twice when I saw it. I mean, who doesn't know how to walk? With all the scams out there to take your money, some so sophisticated that it may be impossible to avoid them, I thought, really, who's going to fall for this?? It's one of those things that once you learn how to do it, like riding a bike, you never forget.
Reading the rest of the ad, it said it focused on endurance (tip: walk a little more everyday), walking 3-5 miles in all weather (dress appropriately) and cool down afterwards ( walk slowly until you're not breathing hard).
I just saved you $80. (Feel free to send me a check.)
But maybe that's not the point; of course we all know how to walk. Maybe the point was getting up and making that commitment to walk, and slowly increasing the distance, taking care of ourselves along the way, and safely concluding the walk.
It's like writing. Yes, we all know how to write, but like some athletes, there are those who are instantly exceptional. The rest of us fall into the other categories of 'good writer' or 'average writer' or 'poor writer.' Just because you've been doing it so long doesn't mean there is no room for improvement (go back and read the early works of your fave authors and see how much they've improved...)
So continue that education- take writing classes, take advice, take a trip to a conference.
And take a chance on improving a skill you already know how to do.
Char
photo courtesy of Microsoft Clipart
It's a class on walking.
Really.
Through a public park.
And you get to pay $80 for it.
?
Doesn't it sound ridiculous? I had to look twice when I saw it. I mean, who doesn't know how to walk? With all the scams out there to take your money, some so sophisticated that it may be impossible to avoid them, I thought, really, who's going to fall for this?? It's one of those things that once you learn how to do it, like riding a bike, you never forget.
Reading the rest of the ad, it said it focused on endurance (tip: walk a little more everyday), walking 3-5 miles in all weather (dress appropriately) and cool down afterwards ( walk slowly until you're not breathing hard).
I just saved you $80. (Feel free to send me a check.)
But maybe that's not the point; of course we all know how to walk. Maybe the point was getting up and making that commitment to walk, and slowly increasing the distance, taking care of ourselves along the way, and safely concluding the walk.
It's like writing. Yes, we all know how to write, but like some athletes, there are those who are instantly exceptional. The rest of us fall into the other categories of 'good writer' or 'average writer' or 'poor writer.' Just because you've been doing it so long doesn't mean there is no room for improvement (go back and read the early works of your fave authors and see how much they've improved...)
So continue that education- take writing classes, take advice, take a trip to a conference.
And take a chance on improving a skill you already know how to do.
Char
photo courtesy of Microsoft Clipart
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
I'll Be Seeing You...
In a lot of cool places. I'm putting together my schedule for book signings and presentations. The schedule isn't set, but I figured I'd put a mention so you can look out for other awesome authors, and maybe The Powers That Be will jump on the chance to invite me...
Here they are:
April 19: YA Fest
http://yafest.blogspot.com/2013/04/ya-fest-2014-is-coming.html
This is being coordinated by awesome author Jennifer Murgia. Tons of authors will be signing and some are giving writing presentations. I've been to this twice and was thrilled to be asked again. You. Can't. Miss. It.
April 26: Little Flowers Teen Book Festival
https://www.facebook.com/LFWritersFest
Again, another amazing author, K.M. Walton, is one of the coordinators, along with the marvelous sisters at Little Flowers. I'm giving a writing presentation, and then doing a meet & greet/signing. *Sings 'I'm so excited....'
May 3: Hudson Children's Book Festival
http://www.hudsonchildrensbookfestival.com/
I'm still waiting to hear if my application is approved, but updates are always being made. There are sooo many authors, from PB to YA, who sign here. It's HUGE.
May 17: Hillsborough Libray Book Fair
http://www.somerset.lib.nj.us/hillsborough.htm
There will be a range of authors from picture book to young adult. Details are still being worked out, but you'll see some familiar faces (like me) and make new author friends.
June 1: Somerville Spring Street Fair
http://somervillebiz.org/event/somerville-spring-spectacular/
I'm working on getting our Kidlit Authors Club members a spot on this Main Street affair. There are vendors, food, bands, and lots of friendly folk! Stay tuned for more details.
June 28-29: NJ Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators Annual Conference
http://njscbwi.com/
All the details aren't posted yet, but if you've EVER wanted to write or illustrate-picture books, poetry, articles, middle grade or young adult novels, THIS is the place to be. Famous guest speakers, agents, editors, published authors signing their books and giving presentations on writing/illustrating for children. I never miss it! I may be presenting- stay tuned for details as they develop.
Sept 19-21: Chapter By Chapter Book Rave
http://www.cbcevent.com/p/updates.html
This is UNBELIEVABLE. Hosted by YA author Jennifer Armentrout and co-hosted by my friend Damaris Cardinali & TrinDee Events, there are (at present!) 39 young adult authors and as many NA (new adult) authors. It's a 3 day extravaganza with a free, open to public book signing and other events. Keep checking back for updates! Right after, I'm dying & going to YA heaven...
Sept: Warwick Children's Book Festival
http://www.warwickchildrensbookfestival.org/
I've been trying to get in for several years but... (and I'm a NY native. Huh.) An updated site for 2014 hasn't been set yet, so there isn't a specified date yet.
Get those dates blocked on your calendars, there's too much book/reading/author goodness to be missed!
Char
Here they are:
April 19: YA Fest
http://yafest.blogspot.com/2013/04/ya-fest-2014-is-coming.html
This is being coordinated by awesome author Jennifer Murgia. Tons of authors will be signing and some are giving writing presentations. I've been to this twice and was thrilled to be asked again. You. Can't. Miss. It.
April 26: Little Flowers Teen Book Festival
https://www.facebook.com/LFWritersFest
Again, another amazing author, K.M. Walton, is one of the coordinators, along with the marvelous sisters at Little Flowers. I'm giving a writing presentation, and then doing a meet & greet/signing. *Sings 'I'm so excited....'
May 3: Hudson Children's Book Festival
http://www.hudsonchildrensbookfestival.com/
I'm still waiting to hear if my application is approved, but updates are always being made. There are sooo many authors, from PB to YA, who sign here. It's HUGE.
May 17: Hillsborough Libray Book Fair
http://www.somerset.lib.nj.us/hillsborough.htm
There will be a range of authors from picture book to young adult. Details are still being worked out, but you'll see some familiar faces (like me) and make new author friends.
June 1: Somerville Spring Street Fair
http://somervillebiz.org/event/somerville-spring-spectacular/
I'm working on getting our Kidlit Authors Club members a spot on this Main Street affair. There are vendors, food, bands, and lots of friendly folk! Stay tuned for more details.
June 28-29: NJ Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators Annual Conference
http://njscbwi.com/
All the details aren't posted yet, but if you've EVER wanted to write or illustrate-picture books, poetry, articles, middle grade or young adult novels, THIS is the place to be. Famous guest speakers, agents, editors, published authors signing their books and giving presentations on writing/illustrating for children. I never miss it! I may be presenting- stay tuned for details as they develop.
Sept 19-21: Chapter By Chapter Book Rave
http://www.cbcevent.com/p/updates.html
This is UNBELIEVABLE. Hosted by YA author Jennifer Armentrout and co-hosted by my friend Damaris Cardinali & TrinDee Events, there are (at present!) 39 young adult authors and as many NA (new adult) authors. It's a 3 day extravaganza with a free, open to public book signing and other events. Keep checking back for updates! Right after, I'm dying & going to YA heaven...
Sept: Warwick Children's Book Festival
http://www.warwickchildrensbookfestival.org/
I've been trying to get in for several years but... (and I'm a NY native. Huh.) An updated site for 2014 hasn't been set yet, so there isn't a specified date yet.
Get those dates blocked on your calendars, there's too much book/reading/author goodness to be missed!
Char
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
No Man Is An Island...
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
John Donne, Courtesy of Poem Hunter
"There is no 'I' in team..."
Michael Jordan
On Christmas Eve, I volunteered to set up and light the luminarias around our church. The effect was breathtaking, as it is every year.
Do I deserve the credit?
No, because although I volunteered for the job, my mother and two sons helped. So, thanks guys.
But so did Andre Hughes, Adriana Calderon, and Kleber Salas. Church members? No. I don't even know these people. So how do they get to claim credit and get kudos with us?
They made the white paper bags that we poured the sand and set the candles into. Their names are proudly stamped on the bottom.
And then there are those people who made the candles, packaged the sand, transported the supplies, sold them, and church people who ordered them.
One simple job, so many people deserve credit and thanks and acknowledgment.
So too with Blonde OPS.
By now everyone knows that Nat & I wrote it together, but it was the brainchild of our editors Peter Joseph and Kat Brzozowski, and we were brought together by our agent Natalie Lakosil. They've all been acknowledged and thanked, along with family and friends.
But the creation of this book, like the luminaria display, involves so many more people. Copyeditors, packagers, artists, publicists, bloggers, readers, booksellers, truck drivers, shippers, postal workers, typesetters, and too many more to count. I wish I knew everyone who had a hand in making this book a reality just so I could personally say thank you and list them in the acknowledgments.
Some people need a deeper acknowledgment; they deserve the dedication. Here's mine and Nat's.
.JPG)
When I was in seventh grade, my father, who'd worked on lunar modules that orbited and eventually landed on the moon, was out of work. As he struggled to find a job, my mom waitressed. It was a tough few years, and sometimes my parents had to borrow money from family in order to feed us. There was nothing left for trendy fashions; I had hand-me-downs or what clothes my mother made. Enter the rich kids with their overpriced designer outfits and overblown egos.
I was bullied. It made me shy, afraid to talk to people, willing to do anything to fly under the radar. But there was Mr. Cavuto, my English teacher, always with a smile, quick joke, or praise. When Jimmy (and I'm glad I can't remember his name otherwise I'd send him a letter telling him what a lowlife he was) laughed and taunted me because although my clothes were clean and pressed, they still looked poor and out of date.
Mr. Cavuto told him to shut up. And I still remember the look on Jimmy's face. Someone didn't think his jibes were funny? They were telling him to be quiet?
Mr. Cavuto didn't make a big deal of it, but Jimmy never bothered me again, and all through the time I spent there until we moved several months later, Mr. Cavuto praised my work, encouraging me to write. He even had the whole class write farewell Haikus on my last day. It still chokes me up thinking of the kindness he showed.
He deserves the dedication because I may not have continued to write or learned how to deal with criticism if it weren't for him. Thank you, Professor George Cavuto.
And then there was Mr. Grattan, high school English teacher. A sensitive, intellectual man, often bullied by snotty, 'I'm so cool but I'm really a jerk' students, he taught all the literature that seems to be the bane of students (sometimes even English-loving kids like myself): Romeo and Juliet, Silas Marner, Great Expectations, A Streetcar Named Desire. No one loves all the assigned readings, but even with the ones that I could have lived happily without having read, discussed, and written about, Mr. Grattan forced open my narrow view of what literature should be. Great literature doesn't have to be iambic pentameter, or a play, or 18th century English prose.
Literature can be anything I want it to be.
Without having been exposed to the greats and maybe not-so-greats, I might not have let my mind expand to the point where now I can say, "yeah, there's a story in that."
So thank you, Mr. George Grattan, for enlarging my vista, and I'm sorry that I didn't say it sooner while you could hear it. I'm no less grateful.
I proudly, humbly, gratefully, and lovingly dedicate Blonde OPS to you.
Char
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
John Donne, Courtesy of Poem Hunter
"There is no 'I' in team..."
Michael Jordan
On Christmas Eve, I volunteered to set up and light the luminarias around our church. The effect was breathtaking, as it is every year.
Do I deserve the credit?
No, because although I volunteered for the job, my mother and two sons helped. So, thanks guys.
But so did Andre Hughes, Adriana Calderon, and Kleber Salas. Church members? No. I don't even know these people. So how do they get to claim credit and get kudos with us?
They made the white paper bags that we poured the sand and set the candles into. Their names are proudly stamped on the bottom.
And then there are those people who made the candles, packaged the sand, transported the supplies, sold them, and church people who ordered them.
One simple job, so many people deserve credit and thanks and acknowledgment.
So too with Blonde OPS.
By now everyone knows that Nat & I wrote it together, but it was the brainchild of our editors Peter Joseph and Kat Brzozowski, and we were brought together by our agent Natalie Lakosil. They've all been acknowledged and thanked, along with family and friends.
But the creation of this book, like the luminaria display, involves so many more people. Copyeditors, packagers, artists, publicists, bloggers, readers, booksellers, truck drivers, shippers, postal workers, typesetters, and too many more to count. I wish I knew everyone who had a hand in making this book a reality just so I could personally say thank you and list them in the acknowledgments.
Some people need a deeper acknowledgment; they deserve the dedication. Here's mine and Nat's.
When I was in seventh grade, my father, who'd worked on lunar modules that orbited and eventually landed on the moon, was out of work. As he struggled to find a job, my mom waitressed. It was a tough few years, and sometimes my parents had to borrow money from family in order to feed us. There was nothing left for trendy fashions; I had hand-me-downs or what clothes my mother made. Enter the rich kids with their overpriced designer outfits and overblown egos.
I was bullied. It made me shy, afraid to talk to people, willing to do anything to fly under the radar. But there was Mr. Cavuto, my English teacher, always with a smile, quick joke, or praise. When Jimmy (and I'm glad I can't remember his name otherwise I'd send him a letter telling him what a lowlife he was) laughed and taunted me because although my clothes were clean and pressed, they still looked poor and out of date.
Mr. Cavuto told him to shut up. And I still remember the look on Jimmy's face. Someone didn't think his jibes were funny? They were telling him to be quiet?
Mr. Cavuto didn't make a big deal of it, but Jimmy never bothered me again, and all through the time I spent there until we moved several months later, Mr. Cavuto praised my work, encouraging me to write. He even had the whole class write farewell Haikus on my last day. It still chokes me up thinking of the kindness he showed.
He deserves the dedication because I may not have continued to write or learned how to deal with criticism if it weren't for him. Thank you, Professor George Cavuto.
And then there was Mr. Grattan, high school English teacher. A sensitive, intellectual man, often bullied by snotty, 'I'm so cool but I'm really a jerk' students, he taught all the literature that seems to be the bane of students (sometimes even English-loving kids like myself): Romeo and Juliet, Silas Marner, Great Expectations, A Streetcar Named Desire. No one loves all the assigned readings, but even with the ones that I could have lived happily without having read, discussed, and written about, Mr. Grattan forced open my narrow view of what literature should be. Great literature doesn't have to be iambic pentameter, or a play, or 18th century English prose.
Literature can be anything I want it to be.
Without having been exposed to the greats and maybe not-so-greats, I might not have let my mind expand to the point where now I can say, "yeah, there's a story in that."
So thank you, Mr. George Grattan, for enlarging my vista, and I'm sorry that I didn't say it sooner while you could hear it. I'm no less grateful.
I proudly, humbly, gratefully, and lovingly dedicate Blonde OPS to you.
Char
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Cleaning Out The Old Year
The old year is like a manuscript that I've been working on. There are some bright spots, some frustrating ones, a number of disappointments, a lot of work left undone, moments of sheer wonder, and potential for so much more.
Unlike the manuscript, the old year can't be changed, but I can take lessons learned from both:
1. Nothing is all bad, there is always some good. Even if it's only a moment or a sentence, I will find something awe inspiring.
2. Likewise, nothing is perfect; there is always room for improvement. I just have to be open to making changes.
3. There will always be a gem in the rock pile and I will find it if I search hard enough.
4. Sometimes I have to let go of something--whether it's words, pages, the whole manuscript--or people, ideas, goals--that can't be saved. Moving on, even if a project held promise, a relationship was long, or goal was almost reached, can be the right, if painful, path.
5. I need to stop: wasting time on regrets, being unwilling to adapt, refusing to accept when something isn't working, and allowing others to steer the course of my life.
I wish you all the best of health, the most happiness, and as much success as you can handle.
Char
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
A Very Hades Christmas!
As I was putting the last ornament on the tree, I suddenly knew you-know-who was there. I didn't turn around but fussed over the ornaments, making sure they were perfectly spaced.
"Hades, why are you here at my house?" Luckily my parents were out Christmas shopping. It would be hard to explain Hades' presence.
"Sharisse, mon cherie," came that voice that suggested the whisper of silk sliding off skin (he wished!). "I merely wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and give you a gift of my esteem."
Even though I knew I shouldn't, I turned around to face him. While I was desperately in love with Caz, Hades' nephew, something about this dark god gave me an illicit thrill. His wavy dark hair, his mysterious brown eyes--and that sleek, taut body that invited Bon Apetite! if I listened--were always a temptation. He was kind of like an exquisite, custom-made-to-order pair of shoes from Stuart Weitzman; the fit would be perfect, there would be none exactly like it--and I couldn't ever afford to give into the desire.
But that still didn't stop me from sneaking a peek.
He lounged in the doorway in his favorite pose, one shoulder against the frame, arms and legs crossed, his eyes glittering--and his luscious mouth quirked in a slightly sexy, mostly arrogant grin. Irresistible.
The Beast.
Pull yourself together and focus...
"Huh. Your gifts are too expensive to accept, Hades. Last one almost cost me body and soul. The Trojan Horse was a better deal." I started gathering the empty ornament boxes. He snapped his fingers and everything was tidy--he'd even cleaned the spot on the rug from who knew what spilled--and I think he did the windows, too.
It was hard not to love a man like that.
But I didn't.
And he was no man. He was Hades, Lord of the Underworld, Greek god.
And not to be trusted.
"Thank you," I said politely even if a bit cool.
He frowned. "I don't like your attention elsewhere when you're in my presence."
That's my Hades: it's all about him.
He waved a careless hand and two cups of frothy hot chocolate appeared, with extra marshmallows, the square-cut, homemade kind I looooove so much.
He knew how to seduce a girl, and sometimes, you just can't refuse no matter how hard you try. I took the cup and lifted it in wary thanks. He held up his left hand.
"I swear there's nothing devious in the drink or my motives."
Were oaths sworn with left hands binding?
"Want to sit?" I asked gesturing toward our couch.
He graciously inclined his head, said "Thank you," and then practically sat in my lap. I had to scooch over a bit. "Unless..." and his eyes sparkled, "You'd like to have lunch in Gstaad? The slopes are perfection. I checked before popping in here."
"How thoughtful," I murmured before sipping my confectionery addiction. Mmmm. Dark, not milk chocolate. Hades knew me well.
And yet, he didn't give up trying to seduce me even though I always refused. I'd think it was just a game he wanted to win (the girl who plays hard to get) but he was so intense--and relentless.
"Thanks, but no,"I said. "What would Caz think? He's already rescued me once from your clutches. Throwing myself into your company might make him think I was playing one against the other." I put the cup down, licking the marshmallow off my top lip.
His eyes followed.
It was time to find out what he really wanted, refuse, and send him on his merry way to torment someone else. Last thing I needed was for Caz or Persephone to drop in too. That could be awkward.
"Let's be honest for a change, Hades. Just tell me what you want. No games." His cup, along with mine, disintegrated into thin air and he leaned closer. I could barely breathe. Even so, I wasn't going to back away.Once you gave in to him, he owned you: figuratively, literally, physically--and eternally.
"Fine." His gaze held that intensity I so feared. "I want you."
Yeah, I know that. NOT happening.
I started to open my mouth to give the sweetest kiss my gluteous that I could when he stopped me.
"I'll give you ANYTHING. You want the Hope diamond? It becomes the Sharisse Johnson diamond. You want immortality? You won't age even a second. Name it."
Now most people might be tempted. Even considering I was a shopoholic (with limited funds), and yes, I liked pretty, pretty things, I didn't want anything. I had my parents, I had Caz, I had friends, and I was in the school of my choice, the Fashion Institute of Technology. No, there was nothing more I needed.
But...
"Anything?"
He slapped his hand over his heart and his fervent look told me he truly wanted the, er, pleasure of my company. "ANYTHING." His voice was almost hoarse.
If there was no limit... should I refuse? What would Caz think? Would Persephone find out? Even if she did, I knew that I'd be under Hades' protection; he was a gentleman that way at least.
I deliberated. One special gift. Only I could ask for it and get it.
I was going to do it. Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made.
Straightening my shoulders and taking a deep breath, I said "Okay."
His eyes widened and I swear I heard his indrawn breath. "Tell me what you want."
"No more war. Ever. Eternal peace on Earth."
He flushed and jumped up, scowling fiercely at me. "You can't ask that! It has to be for you!"
Standing abruptly with fists on my hips, I glared right back at him. "You said 'anything.' And it's what I want. I have friends and a cousin who are serving in the military. I know people who have lost family due to wars. Children die when nations go to war. No more war. Ever. That's what I want."
Hades ran his fingers through his beautiful mane, more agitated than I have ever seen him. "Can't you ask for something material? Or to be forever youthful? That's what most people ask for."
I eyed him coldly. "I'm not most people. That's why you're so obsessed with me. And besides, it's Christmas. Time to think about and help others." I know some people considered me shallow because I liked to have my nails done, look perfect, and be popular, but I had a conscience and wanted to do good.
He shook his head sadly. "I can't do that. There's a thing called free will. I can't interfere with it. I believe it's the basis of your own faith. Humanity has to decide for itself, like you had to agree to our initial contract."
I felt deflated. Here I was going to put myself on the altar of Hades' lust for a noble cause, and I was turned away.
At least I tried.
"There's nothing else I want, Hades," I said softly, knowing that if he couldn't give me world peace, then he couldn't abolish disease, pain, suffering, and other ills that plagued us insignificant mortals.
With sad, soulful eyes, he whispered, "Not even a new kitty?"
I laughed. True to form, Hades didn't give up. "Tell you what," and I grabbed his hand so we stood under the mistletoe. "Just one, promise?"
Back came his arrogant smile. "Just one."
I narrowed my eyes. "And no whisking me off anywhere, no three hundred year kiss, no telling Caz, no trouble for me, got it? Or I'll tell Persephone." With a resigned sigh, he nodded. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him in for a very seductive, memorable kiss. When I moved back, he was breathing hard. He nodded, actually speechless.
I heard the key in the door--my parents were home!
But he was gone.
My cat, Chanel, came running into the room, a new pretty silver bell on her collar and a note. I pulled the note off. It read:
My Darling Sharisse,
I'm sorry I couldn't give you the gift you wanted, although I'm not surprised you asked for it. And I know you won't accept anything from me, even if I promise 'no strings' but I can give you this-
Look out your window.
Yours eternally,
Hades
I moved over to the window; snow fell softly, already a thin sheeting on the grass, trees, street and rooftops. He was giving me a white Christmas.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"The pleasure was all mine," he whispered back.
And so I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, a healthy and happy 2014, and a dream come true. To one lucky random person, I'm giving away an audio copy of Sirenz. Just put your name in the comments, tell your friends, family, etc. I will notify the winner before the New Year (you have plenty of time, but why wait? You might forget...) One entry per person.
Char
"Hades, why are you here at my house?" Luckily my parents were out Christmas shopping. It would be hard to explain Hades' presence.
"Sharisse, mon cherie," came that voice that suggested the whisper of silk sliding off skin (he wished!). "I merely wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and give you a gift of my esteem."
Even though I knew I shouldn't, I turned around to face him. While I was desperately in love with Caz, Hades' nephew, something about this dark god gave me an illicit thrill. His wavy dark hair, his mysterious brown eyes--and that sleek, taut body that invited Bon Apetite! if I listened--were always a temptation. He was kind of like an exquisite, custom-made-to-order pair of shoes from Stuart Weitzman; the fit would be perfect, there would be none exactly like it--and I couldn't ever afford to give into the desire.
But that still didn't stop me from sneaking a peek.
He lounged in the doorway in his favorite pose, one shoulder against the frame, arms and legs crossed, his eyes glittering--and his luscious mouth quirked in a slightly sexy, mostly arrogant grin. Irresistible.
The Beast.
Pull yourself together and focus...
"Huh. Your gifts are too expensive to accept, Hades. Last one almost cost me body and soul. The Trojan Horse was a better deal." I started gathering the empty ornament boxes. He snapped his fingers and everything was tidy--he'd even cleaned the spot on the rug from who knew what spilled--and I think he did the windows, too.
It was hard not to love a man like that.
But I didn't.
And he was no man. He was Hades, Lord of the Underworld, Greek god.
And not to be trusted.
"Thank you," I said politely even if a bit cool.
He frowned. "I don't like your attention elsewhere when you're in my presence."
That's my Hades: it's all about him.
He waved a careless hand and two cups of frothy hot chocolate appeared, with extra marshmallows, the square-cut, homemade kind I looooove so much.
He knew how to seduce a girl, and sometimes, you just can't refuse no matter how hard you try. I took the cup and lifted it in wary thanks. He held up his left hand.
"I swear there's nothing devious in the drink or my motives."
Were oaths sworn with left hands binding?
"Want to sit?" I asked gesturing toward our couch.
He graciously inclined his head, said "Thank you," and then practically sat in my lap. I had to scooch over a bit. "Unless..." and his eyes sparkled, "You'd like to have lunch in Gstaad? The slopes are perfection. I checked before popping in here."
"How thoughtful," I murmured before sipping my confectionery addiction. Mmmm. Dark, not milk chocolate. Hades knew me well.
And yet, he didn't give up trying to seduce me even though I always refused. I'd think it was just a game he wanted to win (the girl who plays hard to get) but he was so intense--and relentless.
"Thanks, but no,"I said. "What would Caz think? He's already rescued me once from your clutches. Throwing myself into your company might make him think I was playing one against the other." I put the cup down, licking the marshmallow off my top lip.
His eyes followed.
It was time to find out what he really wanted, refuse, and send him on his merry way to torment someone else. Last thing I needed was for Caz or Persephone to drop in too. That could be awkward.
"Let's be honest for a change, Hades. Just tell me what you want. No games." His cup, along with mine, disintegrated into thin air and he leaned closer. I could barely breathe. Even so, I wasn't going to back away.Once you gave in to him, he owned you: figuratively, literally, physically--and eternally.
"Fine." His gaze held that intensity I so feared. "I want you."
Yeah, I know that. NOT happening.
I started to open my mouth to give the sweetest kiss my gluteous that I could when he stopped me.
"I'll give you ANYTHING. You want the Hope diamond? It becomes the Sharisse Johnson diamond. You want immortality? You won't age even a second. Name it."
Now most people might be tempted. Even considering I was a shopoholic (with limited funds), and yes, I liked pretty, pretty things, I didn't want anything. I had my parents, I had Caz, I had friends, and I was in the school of my choice, the Fashion Institute of Technology. No, there was nothing more I needed.
But...
"Anything?"
He slapped his hand over his heart and his fervent look told me he truly wanted the, er, pleasure of my company. "ANYTHING." His voice was almost hoarse.
If there was no limit... should I refuse? What would Caz think? Would Persephone find out? Even if she did, I knew that I'd be under Hades' protection; he was a gentleman that way at least.
I deliberated. One special gift. Only I could ask for it and get it.
I was going to do it. Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made.
Straightening my shoulders and taking a deep breath, I said "Okay."
His eyes widened and I swear I heard his indrawn breath. "Tell me what you want."
"No more war. Ever. Eternal peace on Earth."
He flushed and jumped up, scowling fiercely at me. "You can't ask that! It has to be for you!"
Standing abruptly with fists on my hips, I glared right back at him. "You said 'anything.' And it's what I want. I have friends and a cousin who are serving in the military. I know people who have lost family due to wars. Children die when nations go to war. No more war. Ever. That's what I want."
Hades ran his fingers through his beautiful mane, more agitated than I have ever seen him. "Can't you ask for something material? Or to be forever youthful? That's what most people ask for."
I eyed him coldly. "I'm not most people. That's why you're so obsessed with me. And besides, it's Christmas. Time to think about and help others." I know some people considered me shallow because I liked to have my nails done, look perfect, and be popular, but I had a conscience and wanted to do good.
He shook his head sadly. "I can't do that. There's a thing called free will. I can't interfere with it. I believe it's the basis of your own faith. Humanity has to decide for itself, like you had to agree to our initial contract."
I felt deflated. Here I was going to put myself on the altar of Hades' lust for a noble cause, and I was turned away.
At least I tried.
"There's nothing else I want, Hades," I said softly, knowing that if he couldn't give me world peace, then he couldn't abolish disease, pain, suffering, and other ills that plagued us insignificant mortals.
With sad, soulful eyes, he whispered, "Not even a new kitty?"
I laughed. True to form, Hades didn't give up. "Tell you what," and I grabbed his hand so we stood under the mistletoe. "Just one, promise?"
Back came his arrogant smile. "Just one."
I narrowed my eyes. "And no whisking me off anywhere, no three hundred year kiss, no telling Caz, no trouble for me, got it? Or I'll tell Persephone." With a resigned sigh, he nodded. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him in for a very seductive, memorable kiss. When I moved back, he was breathing hard. He nodded, actually speechless.
I heard the key in the door--my parents were home!
But he was gone.
My cat, Chanel, came running into the room, a new pretty silver bell on her collar and a note. I pulled the note off. It read:
My Darling Sharisse,
I'm sorry I couldn't give you the gift you wanted, although I'm not surprised you asked for it. And I know you won't accept anything from me, even if I promise 'no strings' but I can give you this-
Look out your window.
Yours eternally,
Hades
I moved over to the window; snow fell softly, already a thin sheeting on the grass, trees, street and rooftops. He was giving me a white Christmas.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"The pleasure was all mine," he whispered back.
And so I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, a healthy and happy 2014, and a dream come true. To one lucky random person, I'm giving away an audio copy of Sirenz. Just put your name in the comments, tell your friends, family, etc. I will notify the winner before the New Year (you have plenty of time, but why wait? You might forget...) One entry per person.
Char
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Do You Know This Crazy Woman?
This is what I felt like in November. I was doing NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month- 1 novel, 1,667 words a day for 30 days), driving to book signings for Sirenz and doing other PR stuff for Blonde Ops, getting a bathroom renovation done, doing Thanksgiving prep & day, handling kids & school stuff, family issues, and trying to stick to my swimming exercise routine. You get the picture.
It's now December and my house and tree are decorated, most of my shopping/wrapping is done, no more signings, the galleys for Blonde Ops have gotten (I hope) the last proofing, and while still busy, life isn't frantic. I'm going to take some time to enjoy the snow, the holiday season, and some personal time.
(And yes, I did finish NaNo with 50,103 words!)
So, I'm off to a well deserved rest and relax- that only the craziness of Christmas brings.
Bring it on. :)
Char
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)